Repeat
by Rabid Ghosts
Summary: Under the hot summer sun, beers in hand, Chloe Saunders and Derek Souza agree on entering a fake relationship. Unfortunately, the feelings don't remain fake. Chlerek. (Chapter 17, last one, now up!).
1. I

Repeat

One

Weaving his way through the crowd, Derek edged towards the tiny girl sitting on the tailgate of his truck, her porcelain-pale legs swinging. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair gleamed in the light, showing off dozens of red streaks. A red solo cup rested on her jean-clad thigh.

"O-oh," she squeaked when her head turned and he saw she had most beautiful eyes. His heart thumped against his chest as he sank down next to her.

"I-is this your truck? I-I could m-move if—" He raised a hand and cut her off. "It's fine," he said.

The music pounded through his ears.

"I'm C-Chloe. C-Chloe Saunders." Her tiny hand was in front of his face; he debated on shaking her hand and closed his around hers lightly.

"Derek. Derek Souza."

She gave him a smile and he knew he was falling for her, hard and fast.

He studied her when she turned her head away to talk to a blonde girl in green sweatshirt. She was tiny, not very busty. She was cute, though: pretty blue eyes, long, pale eyelashes, thin eyebrows, pretty pink lips, freckles splashes across her nose. Long, shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, streaked with cherry-red. Porcelain skin with a dusting of freckles.

_She's beautiful; _he mused absently, watching her tuck her curls behind her ear.

Her earrings were little blue hearts, glittering.

Derek stared down at his hands, gripping his bottle of soda. Condensation dampened his palms. He wiped them on his legs.

The sun beat down on him and he raked a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He was sweltering. "Are you okay?" He looked over at her, Chloe.

"Hey, Dog Boy!" The truck bounced viciously and Chloe yelped as her drink splashed to the ground.

Derek glowered at Tori, a low growl building in his throat.

"Oh, hey, Chloe," Tori greeted the goddess.

The blonde climbed out of the bed with a little bit of trouble, reminding him of a little kid almost comically when she let her legs dangle as she tried to find the ground. Once she was down, she picked up her litter.

She scampered away, holding the crushed cup in her hand. She headed to table full of drinks.

"Damn it," Derek hissed to Tori. His sister nearly snickered at him.

"I didn't know you had a thing for clumsy blondes," she laughed.

His cheeks heated up like fire. "Shut up," he grunted.

"She's a nice girl, Derek," she said seriously, her dark, almond eyes staring at him with an intense heat.

He felt beads of sweat build up on his forehead. "I noticed," he replied dryly.

"I'm serious." Tori's eyes never left his and her voice left no room for joking.

"Just…be good to her."

Silence braided between them and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back. The sun warmed his sweaty face; a breeze brushed and cooled the sweat on his skin.

"Is he _serious_?" snarled Tori suddenly and the truck lurched and wobbled as she jumped off the roof, landing in a crouch.

Derek opened his eyes and watched his sister weave her ways fast and furiously through the throng of teenage bodies. He followed Tori's line of direction and swore under his breath.

A dark-haired, Puerto Rican guy, flanked by a tall, lean blonde in flannel and a broad dark-haired in a leather jacket, had Chloe by the arm, talking to her fast. Chloe looked ready to cry.

Derek swung off the tailgate and made his way quickly, but quietly towards her.

"L-L-Let m-me—" She was begging the guy holding her arm.

"There you are, hun," Derek cut in quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Would you mind taking your hands off my girlfriend?" he asked in a dark voice.

The Puerto Rican guy's bared teeth didn't scare him but he let go of Chloe's arm when Derek narrowed his eyes and his lip curled in a snarl, similar to a wolf's.

Chloe made a little noise and he hugged her closer to his side.

"And _who _are you?" hissed the blonde boy, a Southern accent clear in his voice.

"Derek."

"Souza? Ain't your daddy Zachary Cain?" the blonde said with a menacing grin. "Ya hear that, Brady?" He guffawed loudly.

The guy in the leather-jacket nodded.

Derek offered a shrug. "Don't know."

"How the hell do you _not know _if your daddy's a serial killer, boy?" the middle boy asked.

Derek's brain stuttered. _Serial killer? _

"Liam, Brady, go." Liam sneered at Chloe and Ramon stared her down; they were polar opposites.

They shouldered passed Derek.

"Chloe, you never told me you had a boyfriend," said the remaining boy with a sugary smile.

"I never knew you were like that, Royce," Tori's voice barked out from behind them. "Oh, wait, I do."

"Until next time, Blondie." He snapped his teeth at Chloe and Derek growled. "Better watch out, Mutt. You can't be around to protect her forever." He shoved passed Chloe, making her stumble.

Derek's hold tightened and remained that way until Royce was gone from his sight.

Silence stretched between them, slow and strained.

"I-I-I—" Chloe squeaked.

Derek cleared his throat and stepped away; she stood there, rubbing her arm. "Who was that?" he asked finally.

She looked away.

"Was that Banks I saw?" Simon asked as he walked up behind Tori, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Yeah," the dark-haired girl responded, crossing her arms.

"He come after Chloe again?"

Derek's teeth nearly cracked with the force of his jaw clenching. "_Again?_" he snarled, temper flaring just like his nostrils as he drank in more air, fighting to stay calm.

"Again?" he repeated, quieter this time.

"I know!" Simon cried, jumping up and scampering closer to Chloe.

Derek's lip curled up at the half-Korean boy. "You could pretend to be Chloe's boyfriend, just to keep Royce off her back! And you wouldn't have to worry about Rodgers."

"R-Rae?" Chloe squawked, her eyes widening in fear. She trembled where she stood.

"Yeah." Simon gave her a sidelong glance. "She's been hounding Derek ever since he hit puberty," he explained.

"S-She and I u-used to be f-f-friends," Chloe said softly, eyes lowering.

"That little bitch made Chloe's life a living hell! She dumped Chloe for Royce right after her mom died," Tori grumbled and then she froze, her expression a still of embarrassment and shock as her eyes swung towards Chloe.

"It's okay," the porcelain girl whispered.

"I'll drive you home," Derek offered, his palms sweating. A trickle of moisture ran down his back. He was grateful when she accepted his invitation.


	2. II

Repeat

Two

Chloe shivered as the young man with green eyes flipped through the radio, settling on rock music.

"You okay?" he asked and it was on the tip of her tongue to say, yes. But she settled for shaking her head and rubbing at her bruised forearm.

As he drove, Chloe stared at Derek. He was tall, his head brushing the tip of the cab, and his long legs looked a tiny bit cramped to his chest; he was way taller than her even while sitting. His long, black hair that curled slightly and fell in sheets around his face whipped around from the AC blowing in his face. He was golden, tanned, to perfection; his cheeks were pocketed with acne and scars from long-healed break outs. He was muscular, like he worked out daily, and had never touched a gram of trans fats in his life. His tank top stretched tight against his chest and she wondered how he didn't tear his clothes with those muscles; unbidden, her eyes went passed his chest to his legs; his jeans hugged his legs like a second skin.

"That Royce guy is lying, you know," Derek said after switching onto the highway, his voice distant.

Chloe watched him through her eyelashes.

"People think I'm Zachary Cain's kid," he muttered, rolling down the window. His hair blew around his angular face as he cut off the air conditioning and hot air billowed into the cab. "It's just a dumbass rumor."

Chloe's heart thumped viciously in her chest as she wiped her sweating palms on her hands.

He didn't look at her as he shifted the stick gear and the car jerked as he switched into the right lane.

A girl in a sleek car zoomed by and flipped him off. He ignored the honking that followed.

"It's been like that ever since my adoptive dad brought me here. It never ends, so now I don't bother to correct them," he explained further, his voice growing quieter with each word, "and I look like him, I guess. Same face."

Same facial structure, Chloe thought, watching him drive easily, one-handed, as she remembered being in the police station the day they caught Zachary Cain. There were posters of him on every bulletin board and wall and desk, and she closed her eyes and thought of his picture, a gaunt-faced man with unruly black hair and cold, hard eyes that seemed to stare right through you. She could see the resemblance between Derek Souza and him: the same gaunt cheeks, wide-set eyes, furrowed brow, and squashed nose.

"Tu-turn right," she told him quickly, realizing they'd nearly passed the exit for home.

He adjusted the rearview mirror and stared at his reflection.

She sat there and tried not think about the man who might be his father. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the horrible rumors about such a kind guy and glared out the window. People who'd grown up here forever often refused to change and remained stuck in the past; their great grandparents and grandparents and parents remembered the Cain killings and seemed to look down their noses at Derek, just because he bore a striking resemblance to Zachary Cain.

"—Way?" Derek was asking when she tuned back in.

"What?" she asked.

"Which way?"

They were at the entrance to the neighborhood, Lyle Woods Forest, and she relaxed as she quickly told him to head straight and turn right near the playground.

"Simon's idea isn't that bad actually," he said, and his bright eyes met hers.

She felt her breath leave her lungs in a rush of air as her face warmed.

"Royce is hounding you and Rae is basically stalking me; acting as boyfriend-girlfriend might just be what we need to shake them," Derek explained.

Chloe sank lower in her seat. How the hell was she supposed to tell she'd never had a boyfriend? Or kissed a boy? Or even been asked out? "Turn left, last house. Red roof," she said quickly and averted her face.

"We wouldn't have to do anything, of course," he added quietly, his cheeks and ears turning redder by the minute.

It occurred to Chloe that maybe he'd never been asked out either. "I-I've never dated," she explained softly, cheeks warming.

Derek pulled into the driveway and parked the truck. He unbuckled himself and then her, tapping on the belt buckle with his big knuckles. "I won't make you do anything you aren't ready. We don't have to even talk or touch; we can just hang around each other."

"N-No, th-that's not what I m-meant. I meant I've n-never been a-asked out…ever," she explained hurriedly, her face heating up when he exhaled and a blast of minty breath hit her face.

"That makes two of us. Girls don't exactly flock around me like they do Simon and Tori," he muttered with a twist of a sardonic smile on his mouth.

"W-we could j-just hang a-and stuff," Chloe suggested shyly, sticking her hands under her thighs and sitting on them. She rocked slightly.

"That doesn't sound that bad, now does it?" Derek said with a half-smile.

A smile crept across her lips as tensions slipped away, washed away by his ease. "No," she admitted, twirling her hair around her finger like she'd seen the movie girls do, and shrieked suddenly as someone rapped on the window. Hand over her heart, Chloe whipped around and saw her aunt's frowning face.

Dr. Lauren Fellows still wore her surgical scrubs and her reddish hair was escaping the bun she wore it in; she looked tired and grouchy.

"H-hi, A-Aunt Lauren," Chloe squeaked out, trying to figure out how to explain the bruise on her forearm and the stranger in the drover's seat.

Aunt Lauren's frown deepened when her pale, ice blue eyes landed on Derek. "Who are you? Why is my daughter in your truck?" she hissed.

Chloe shrank back. As much as she loved Aunt Lauren, she'd never, ever replace Mom.

"My name is Derek, ma'am. She needed a ride home so I gave her one," Derek said in a detached, partially-neutral tone.

Lauren's eyes narrowed. "And you just gave her one? She's such a pretty girl, so I find it hard to believe that you didn't take—"

"No. I'd never." His jaw was set and his eyes blazed as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Chloe's face heated up at the assumption. Her pulsed kicked up.

"Dear God, what did you do to her?" Lauren had obviously spotted the bruises from Royce.

"He didn't do anything, Aunt Lauren. Some jerk at the party grabbed me; he rescued me. Since he's Tori's brother, he offered to drive me home," she explained quietly, hoping the mention of a friend—the familial relation—would calm the doctor down.

Lauren pulled back, color fading out of her face.

Chloe loved Aunt Lauren but, sometimes, the doctor could jump to conclusions at the worst times.

"Chloe," Derek said softly and his hand touched her back.

She turned away from her aunt and wiped at her eyes, embarrassed beyond belief.

"I-I'm so-sorry you had t-to see that," she apologized gently, pulling away.

"It's fine. We all lose our cool sometimes." Darkness flashed across his handsome face and she nearly pulled away from him because of it. It made her want to hide. It was the same kind of haunted dark that Cain the serial killer radiated.


	3. III

Repeat

Three

When she slammed the door shut, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He watched Chloe bounce away, hair gleaming in the sunlight as she followed the woman inside, glancing back to give him a smile and a wave.

The woman scowled at him, hauled Chloe inside, and shut the door.

Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he let his muscles relax.

A curtain fluttered.

Chloe's face peered out of a top window, smiling down at him. She waved before she vanished from sight, the curtain falling still.

Derek shifted gears and backed out of the driveway; he rolled down the windows to help bat away the dizziness that had taken over. He was sweating furiously and his hair stuck to the sides of his jaw. He glanced in the mirror. _Whose son _are _you? _

Clenching his jaw, he navigated his way out of Lyle Woods Forest and headed home; his music was still blasting Chloe's music. Some song by a country singer. Luke Bryan_. _He wasn't big on country but this song was so damn catchy that he started tapping to the tune as he turned down Grant Drive and down Picket Road.

He passed the normal hair salons, music stories and drugstores but turned into the parking lot of Andrew's Daring Donuts and parked.

"Three dozen, right?" Andrew asked, smiling. His uncle always knew he ordered for the family.

"Five sugar free, right?" Derek asked.

"Yes," laughed Andrew, handing the black-haired man the bag. His salt-and-peppering brown hair looked thin.

Derek took the three boxes with thanks and then headed home.

oOo

The condo came alive with the smell of donuts.

Their dogs, Lucky and Josie, barked excitedly at Derek when he walked through the door.

Lucky was a fat Corgi that waddled around but it was amusing to see him running on his short, stubby legs, skidding on the hardwood floor. Josie, on the other hand, was a giant Boxer that could bowl someone over if she came at them fast enough.

Derek laughed and, carefully and deliberately, placed the boxes in the middle of the table before crouching down. The dogs licked at his face, tails thumping.

"Mutts," Tori said as she walked in, spiky hair half-crimped but then she saw the donuts and a smile broke out. "Thank you," she said, flipping open the lid.

The smell wafted out and Simon popped in, followed by an older, silver-streaked-haired version of him.

"The powdered one are yours, Simon," Derek said, scooping up a hazelnut-chocolate one for himself before taking a bite.

"So, what happened with you and Chloe?" Simon and Tori demanded, mouths full of donut goodness.

"I drove her home. She thanked me," Derek answered, taking another donut. This one had coconut on it.

He bit into it as Simon said, "So you met her psycho aunt?"

Derek's brows furrowed. "I thought that—" Her mind shifted gears, churning, as he remembered what Tori had said. _The little bitch made Chloe's life a living hell! She dumped Chloe for Royce right after her mom died! _

"Oh. I thought that was her mom."

Tori shook her head. "Her mom died in a car accident in about seventh grade," she explained, picking up a peanut butter donut and biting into it. Derek nodded. "Her dad wasn't the same. He managed for a few years, but eventually, he…he killed himself in the master bedroom. Lauren took her in but she's hardly home and very over protective."

He chewed this thoughtfully before he took his box up to his room, hearing Tori explaining to Kit about the party and Derek's butting in to save Chloe from the hands of Royce. He kicked open his bedroom door and headed in; the door slammed with the force of his elbow shutting it. Balancing the box, he kicked off his sneakers and flopped down on his bed.

His mind raced as he finished his second donut and worked onto the third. He absently nibbled on it as he thought and thought and thought. Suddenly, his phone vibrated and he wiped his hands on his jeans before picking it up.

_Chloe Saunders: Hey._

He choked on the piece of donut in his mouth and hacked until his throat cleared. How the hell—

_Chloe Saunders: You weren't paying attention to me so I swiped your phone and put in my number. That way, if you wanted, we could text._

Huh. He texted her back after a minute, another donut absently shoved into his mouth. _Derek Souza: And what have you decided? _His hands were shaking so he busied himself; he stripped down and, swiping his phone off the counter, entered his attached bathroom.

Raking his hands through his oily hair, he blasted music and let the water heat up. Hearing the buzz of his phone, he walked back nude and stared down at the text.

_Chloe Saunders: Yes. At least until Royce and Rae forget about us._

He let out a shaky breath and shoved back his long hair. _Derek Souza: I was thinking I had scared you off, _he wrote as he dipped his fingers under the faucet. It was piping hot. _Derek Souza: I'll be right back; I need to shower. _He clicked send and headed to the bathtub.

The phone vibrated.

_Chloe Saunders: I didn't need to know when my boyfriend's in the shower but…I really don't mind the image. _

Derek stared at the text in surprise. She didn't peg him as bold.

_Chloe Saunders: Oh my god. That wasn't me. That was Nate. /._

He let a tiny smile play across his mouth before he answered. _Derek Souza: I didn't think you'd be that bold, Chloe. _Steam was clouding the room, sending tendrils of condensation streaking down the mirror, like it was crying.

He wiped away the fog and stared hard at his reflection. His face was pocketed with acne scars and his cheeks were inflamed with acne; what was it that the girls at school saw in him? _Probably the muscles, _he thought dryly.

_Chloe Saunders: Tell Simon that his boyfriend might be found floating down a river tomorrow. _

He laughed out loud. _Derek Souza: Let me shower, Chloe. _

He was just stepping into the shower when the phone vibrated.

_Chloe Saunders: Bet you have a nice ass. _

His face flamed.

_Chloe Saunders: Oh my god. I'm changing my passcode so Nate can't text you inappropriate things. |||-_- _

_Well, _he thought as he sank into the tub, water sloshing up, _pseudo-dating Chloe Saunders is going to be interesting. _His phone buzzed and then rang.

He answered. "_OH MY GOD! HE'S SO HOT_!" shrieked a male voice. Nate. "_Nate_!" Chloe. Elizabeth Deaney was laughing in the background. "_I hate you_," Chloe yelled and Derek imagined the cute pout on her face.

The call disconnected and he set his phone on the edge of the counter, keeping an eye on it in case she called him back.

_This is going to be hard. _


	4. IV

Repeat

Four

It seemed like, against all odds, that she was falling harder and harder for Derek Souza. They visited each other's houses just for appearances' sake, but she found that she liked hearing Tori's loud laughter or Simon knocking over something with a soccer ball or listening to Kit's army stories. They went out to eat, but he always seemed a bit distant, keeping her at arms' length.

_It's not real, _she'd remind herself vehemently when they saw each other in town and her heart sank when he didn't acknowledge her. Despite this, her attraction to him grew and grew and she started taking better care of her appearance in hopes of catching his attention, getting up a little bit early to shower and comb out her plain hair, put on enough makeup to be tasteful and match her clothes with her jewelry.

But, today, she threw on some sweats, an oversized sweater that belonged to her dad, and her hair was up, showing off her swan-like neck. She didn't feel like dressing up and her depression was dark, like a fat, rainy cloud hanging over her as she glared at the calendar. _I miss you, Mommy, _she thought quietly as she caught the bus and plunked down in the back, listening to the quiet.

She was one of the first on the bus and normally couldn't wait for the noise but now she was painfully aware of every sound, the rattling of the tires, the rain hitting the windows, the static on the radio, the whirring of the engine.

_It's been, what, five years? It never gets any easier. Lauren isn't home much but I think it's because she can't stand being in the same house where you died, seeing the living room and expecting you to be sitting there, curled up and sewing those beanies I love. Or making dinner. Or in the backyard, planting tulips. _

"Chloe?"

Her head jerked up as her chin flew out of her hand.

Glittering green eyes stared down at her and she wondered if he'd ever lost anyone like she did.

_I don't think Aunt Lauren did ever really forgive Daddy, to be honest. In her eyes, he should've died, not you. You were just beginning motherhood. _

"What?" Her voice came out raspy and his eyebrows shot down, a crease in the middle as he swung down beside her, dropping his backpack at their feet. He was damp with rain, his navy t-shirt sticking to his skin, droplets gleaming on his skin.

_It wasn't fair. Aunt Lauren hated him. I miss you, a lot. Not a day passes without you crossing my mind. _

"Are you okay?" He pushed back his bangs, out of his face, and he looked like a prince out of a fairy tale, the kind her mom used to read.

She shrugged absently and let her fingers curl around her pendant, feeling the cool metal bite. It was the only comfort.

_It's hard, hearing my friends complain about parents when you're gone and Daddy's not here anymore and it's just me and Aunt Lauren, who, try as she might, will _never _match up to you, no matter how hard she tries. She still sees me as the scared little girl crying for mommy days after the funeral. I've raised myself. I'm not socially awkward; I have friends, I make good choices. _

"Hey, what's wrong? You're crying," he said and it was then that she recognized that familiar burn in the back of her eyes, her cheeks coated with sticky tears.

"Nothing." She glanced up as some freshmen and juniors climbed on and noise filled the buss. "Nothing at all," she lied as she slipped in her headphones to drown him out and watched the rain slip down the mirror, tear trails.

_But maybe it's not enough. _

oOo

It was hard to concentrate—she couldn't do any of her work and nearly broke down during her test during second period. It was like the cloud was swallowing her whole, drowning her, pressing down and clamping hard on her head like a vice, growing tighter and tighter until she thought her head would pop right out of her neck.

"Chloe Saunders," crackled a voice on the intercom that she recognized as the receptionist in the office. Heads snapped to her. Her face flamed viciously. "Please come down to the office."

_Who is it? It can't be Dad or Aunt Lauren, _she thought to herself as she rose from her seat and headed for the door; a million eyes followed her. Sweat slicked her skin as her mind began to race, running through scenario after scenario, each worse than the previous.

The house got robbed.

Aunt Lauren gone.

Aunt Lauren dead.

The house burned down.

She remembered when her mom died. She remembered being called into the office, the solemn face of her ashen-skinned aunt making her panic, and her dad's tired, tear-streaked one making her worry.

"Chloe," he had begun but Aunt Lauren shouldered passed him and he crumbled into tears. "There was an accident," he'd said and she got cold all over.

"Your mother—" Everything else she had said was swallowed by water filling up Chloe's ears. She couldn't breathe.

"Chloe?" It was a man who looked strikingly like her mother, with a crooked nose and stained green flannel shirt layered under his black rain coat; a shadow of stubble crawled over his mouth.

"Who are you?" she squeaked, backing up.

The receptionist's fingers flew over the keyboard and the sound was deafening, louder than the bong of the clock in the front hall.

"My name is Ben Fellows," he said slowly, raising his hands up in the universal "I surrender" sign.

She bit her tongue. "And?" Her words were weak and tiny.

"I wanted to see my sister's daughter."

The smile he gave her nearly made her burst into tears.

It looked exactly like her mother's.

oOo

"So he just _showed up_?" Aunt Lauren hissed, drumming the table with her nails, a scowl set across her thin face.

Ben Fellows had taken Chloe home, to her aunt, without ever asking how to get to the house. It was like he'd lived there all his life; it was pretty creepy.

Chloe picked at the fraying ends of her sweatshirt sleeves, pointedly ignoring her aunt's outrage. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away.

"Lauren?"

Ben peeked in and gave them a smile that could've rivaled an adorable puppy; a lock of curly hair fell across his sunburned forehead.

"I don't see why you showed up," Aunt Lauren huffed, crossing her arms.

A look of irritation flashed across Ben's kind face as he stepped into the room. "I came to see Chloe," he said.

"After _fifteen _years!" spat the doctor.

Chloe watched with a tightening, anxious stomach as they grew louder and louder, shouting accusation after accusation. "Stop, p-pl-please," she whispered as she wrung her hands, fear scaling up her spine with icy tendrils. "Stop arguing!" she begged, close to tears but they couldn't hear her over their screaming match.

"You _never _visited!" Aunt Lauren snarled, wisps of hair escaping her ponytail.

"_Excuse me _if I wanted to be healthy before I came to see Chloe. I've been struggling—" Ben argued, a dark look crossing his face.

"—Always me, me, me!" Aunt Lauren snapped, "no wonder Jennifer cut off all ties!"

"Stop arguing!" Chloe sobbed, bursting into tears.

The siblings froze as someone pounded on the door; thunder boomed in a massive way and lighting lit up the house.

"You stay here," Aunt Lauren said sharply, glowering at Ben and Chloe, but her brother scowled and bit out, "No, _I'll _get it."

Chloe shoved passed both of them and wiped her wet cheeks. "I will. _You _two stay here."

The house was deathly quiet and desolate as she headed for the parlor leading to the front door. Rain pelted and bellowed the house as it rained violently; actually, according to the news report this morning, it was a tropical storm. All TVs were off and most of the lights; shadows stretched far across the ground and sent chills up her spine.

Even on her tiptoes, she couldn't see out the peephole so she let out a rather girly scream when she saw Derek fucking Souza standing there. His t-shirt was soaked and so were his dark jeans, clinging to his muscular physique; his hair was plastered down against his sharp eyes.

"Hi."

Her fake boyfriend was standing on her fucking doorstep, in the middle of a fucking tropical storm, holding a bouquet of hydrangeas, which, oddly enough, were her favorite flower.

"What—" she began but he interrupted her with, "Can I come in? The rain isn't letting up and the roads are closed."

And that's how she found herself on Friday, handing towels to Derek friggin Souza, sitting on her couch, with her long-lost-but-found uncle Ben and pissy Aunt Lauren on the anniversary of her mother's death.

This would be interesting.


	5. V

Repeat

Five

Chloe set the cups on the table and watched everyone take one.

"I think Daddy has some old clothes that he left that you can borrow," she offered quietly to Derek as he shivered in his cold, wet clothes.

His eyebrows rose in surprise and disappeared behind his overgrown bangs. "Thanks," he said and rose, all six-foot-five feet of him, towering above everyone.

Lauren made a tsking sound as she turned her face away.

"I have to call Danielle," Ben muttered, patting his pockets before fishing out a Samsung Galaxy.

It was then that Chloe noticed the ring on his finger and an anger burned in her chest. Why is it he could have a wife and yet her father couldn't?

"Lead the way, Chloe," Derek mused, taking her attention away from her uncle.

Face burning, she headed for the stairs, painfully aware of his presence behind her.

"My dad was rather small compared to you," she said to fill the silence as they climbed the steps. "But I'm sure I can find some stuff from when…when my mom was still alive. He was pretty lazy then. Got big." She managed a half-hearted grin as she flicked the light on in her dad's untouched bedroom.

Papers were strewn across the dusty desk and boxes teetered dangerous in the corner, filled with her mother and father's things. All of it was marked _donate. _Something acidic burned in her belly as she rifled through her dad's musty clothes and pulled out a pair of sweats and a flannel sweatshirt.

"He's got so-socks and b-bo-oxers if you n-need them," she squeaked and mortification lit up inside her as Derek nodded and his cheeks turned red too.

"Chloe?" he questioned as she reached the doorway, her back to him. Something wet plopped to the carpet below. "Thanks. I mean it. Do you have a phone, by the way, that I could borrow? Mine's in the car."

"Yeah." Heat crept through her as she caught a glimpse of his golden, muscular physique.

She nearly barreled into Lauren on the way back downstairs and her aunt's bony fingers dug into her arm hard.

"What is _this_?" hissed her aunt, a scowl deepening the lines of her face.

"W-what?" Chloe squeaked.

"Ben, that boy, all of _this,_" spat her aunt.

A fire licked at the girl's insides.

Ever since her mom had died, Lauren had been trying to shield her from everything from boys to mtv's movies. Why hadn't she told Chloe about her mother's brother? Were there other relatives Chloe didn't know about? What _else _was she hiding? The tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth, the blonde straightened her back and said, firmly, "I think I should ask _you _that."

Lauren's nostrils flared as she whispered, fiercely, "I have _nothing _to say—"

"You _kept _him from me!" Chloe burst out shrilly. Her insides were a jumbled mess of anger and pain and the world was blurry with hot tears. "You kept my uncle form me for _fifteen years_." She was half aware of Ben's curly hair in the doorway to the family room and all too aware of Derek standing behind her.

"You never told her about me?" Ben asked softly.

"Why would I? You were in and out of rehab!" snapped Lauren, her chin quivering as she set her shoulders and crossed her arms. She looked like a bitter old woman in the flickering shadows, cold eyes cast away.

A hand touched Chloe's back and she looked behind her to see Derek, wearing her dad's old NYU sweatshirt and a pair of holy sweats, his damp hair sticking to his reddened cheeks.

She blinked hard as tears filled and filled and fell, sliding one after the next. "Why do you have to ruin everything?" she managed to choke out and the hand whipped out, too fast for her to track, and the sharp sting in her cheek sent her stumbling backwards, hitting the ground.

"_Everything _I've done was for _you_!" Lauren spat, stabbing a finger in her face.

Chloe shrank back but Derek's legs were in the way; they pressed against her head and shoulders, acting as anchors to hold her up. The side of her face throbbed as Ben intercepted them.

"Lauren!" he yelled and his face flushed with rage.

Chloe stumbled to her feet as the lights flickered and then went out. She screamed despite herself and crouched down, huddling.

"Chloe?" A puff of warm breath dampened her ear as a hand touched her cheek, fingers probing gently.

"It's okay," the voice said firmly as a hand curled around her arm and yanked her off balance. Instead of the floor, she fell into a warm chest. She wasn't really even aware that she'd been crying like a giant weenie; her face felt wet against his sweatshirt.

"Damn it," grumbled Lauren as she possibly felt her way around.

Chloe listened to the sounds of harsh rain, the thunder roaring quietly, the drum of the man's heartbeat in her ear.

"Derek?" she whispered quietly, balancing on her knees. Hands settled to her hips, steadying her. She squinted into the thick, thick darkness and caught a glimpse of his face, maybe too close to hers, his eyes focused on hers like he could see as clear as day.

"Storms scare you?" he murmured, pressed his mouth against her head.

She bit her lip and debated on telling him. "Just today," she said quietly, feeling her throat close up.

He didn't press, just laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles.

"My mom…" she started and stopped when the tears filled her eyes.

"You don't—"

"I need to."

A deep breath.

"My m-mom was killed, to-today, when I was t-ten. She was dri-driving home, in a storm, to pi-pick up my flute. I left it a-at home."

He shifted them so her back was against his chest. His warmth crawled through her as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"S-she got hit, t-boned by a truck driver, an-and died on the impact." She bit her lip. "I-it's my fault," she whispered.

"No," Derek growled suddenly, startling her. "It's not. It wasn't anybody's."

"The driver was drunk," Ben said quietly, in a thin voice.

Chloe reached out blindly and felt her fingers brush his face, poking him in the mouth.

He laughed but it sounded weak and raspy, like he'd been crying.

"It's okay," she murmured, blinking away the tears that filled her vision.

A flash of lightning illuminated her uncle's figure: slumped against the wall, head bowed like he was ashamed; something dripped from his cheeks. "I'm so glad I met you," he whispered back and held her hand, squeezing.

"Jennifer and Steve would've been proud of you," he choked out as he crawled closer, on his hands and knees, awkwardly. He cried like a baby as he hugged her knees.

She stroked his hair.

And then the lights cut on.

"Chloe?"

Her breath caught at the male figure in the doorway of the front door; she hadn't even heard it open. Hope bloomed and she couldn't stop the word from coming out.

"Dad?"


	6. VI

Repeat

Six

"No," said the voice as Chloe blinked hard, clearing her eyes of tears.

Of course it wasn't her Daddy. He was dead, too, buried next to her Mommy.

It was a man she'd never seen before, with silvering hair and a kind smile.

Lauren stiffened visibly. "Hello, Christopher," she said through clenched teeth.

"Hello, Lauren," the man laughed, smiling gently down at Chloe, tangled in Derek's long legs, half-fallen into her uncle's embrace. Awkward.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," continued the man, smiling down at her as he held out hands adorned in rings.

"T-thank you," she choked out as her face burned viciously; his hand was warm and his grip was very firm as he helped her to her feet.

He looked kind of like Simon, except with streaky black hair and an older knowledge in his eyes. There was a lot of laughter in those brown eyes but there was a seriousness to the set of his mouth.

"Derek," he said, turning to her pseudo boyfriend, who rose to his towering height and helped Ben to his feet.

Ben wiped his cheeks and excused himself to the bathroom.

"Is this the young lady I've heard so much about? Chloe, is it?" He smiled, holding out his hand. "I'm Kit, Derek's dad."

_Adopted. _

"N-Nice to meet you, M-Mr. Bae," she managed as he shook her hand.

"I need to speak with my son, alone, if you don't mind, Chloe," Kit said, smiling in a tight way that made her panic.

Was she in trouble? Did Derek say anything bad? Chloe nodded and fled to the living room, where Aunt Lauren stood, glaring out the window.

"Why are you involved with that boy?" she asked.

Chloe paused, sitting down on the couch and wrapping herself in a blanket. "W-what do you m-mean?" she squeaked.

Lauren turned, eyes cold and lips pressed a thin, hard line and Chloe _knew _she meant business.

Biting her lip, she waited for her aunt.

"I mean him hanging around? Showing up everywhere? At your work, in your classes? At my _house_?" Her high voice rose in pitch, making the blonde shrink back slightly.

Chloe's head throbbed in agony as she blinked hard. She felt gritty and exhausted, her body screaming for sleep, to dream and fall into dreams and away from her nightmarish reality with dead moms and crazy aunts and fake boyfriends whose dads might be serial killers and creeps.

"What are you going on about?" she sighed, wiping at her eyes.

Lauren's angry face loomed above her. "I mean that _monster _is in my house, sitting in that bastard's clothes, hanging around my _daughter_!" she spat, spittle flying from her lips.

Chloe felt her brain shatter into fragments, words bouncing around, noises clashing. She wanted to shut down and not deal with any of this shit.

"Okay," she said dejectedly, staring down at her hands, which shook and had pale fingers cold as ice.

"Okay?" Bony fingers dug pits into her skin as Lauren pulled her closer, anger illuminating blue-grey eyes.

"I'm not your daughter," Chloe said quietly, "Derek's _certainly _not a monster and my father was not a bastard."

"The hell he wasn't!" spat the doctor. "He killed my sister! He took the coward's way out so he wouldn't have to deal with you because you reminded him too much of her! And that boy is a _menace. _He's a danger to anyone he comes in contact with."

"Quite the contrary, Aunt Lauren," Chloe hissed, yanking herself from her aunt's bony grasp. It was like everything was spilling out of her chest, onto the floor and soaking the ground in blood and anger and too many emotions. "Mom went back for my clarinet. I forgot it. Dad was at work so it wasn't his fault. It's my fault. And as for taking the coward's way out? He was so heartbroken. You hated him; you drove him to it! You coerced and guilted and pushed your way between us."

A huge breath rattled. Tears gushed down her face, mingling with snot and she knew she looked horrid but she couldn't care less; she was _beyond _giving a shit.

She bulldozed on. "He already was at a loss at having lost my mom, and you didn't really help. He felt guilty enough as it was, thinking it to be his fault, and then you added onto it, until he cracked. And you called Derek a _menace? _You're the one who tore my family apart! You never liked my father and he tried his best to raise me right, raise me to be a good girl, like Mom would've done but you just brought the nail down on him again and again and again. Derek's been there for me when you haven't. He's been kind and sweet and gentle and polite and he's never _once _hit me, which I can't say the same for you!" Her voice was getting raspier and raspier as she lost all control.

"He's never once threatened me or made me feel insignificant, made me cry at night or try to swallow pills or cut until my arms are ribbons!" She knew she shouldn't have said the last parts but she was so angry and raw that she really needed to get it all out. "He saved from some creep who probably would've shoved his tongue down my throat and had his way with me. He didn't try anything; he drove me straight home. He cared and he was patient and he never once raised his voice at me."

She felt her legs buckle and the ground rushed up to meet her.

"So _that's _what's going on. I've tried to die, I've tried to forget, forgive, not care. I can't. And you killed my father, my mother, and any hope I had for you," Chloe managed to spit out weakly, burying her face in the warm skin of the man's neck.

It was Derek.

For once, her aunt didn't have anything to say.


	7. VII

Repeat

Seven

The summer sun hung high in the sky as they sat on the swing set, him dragging his toe in circles and her sitting on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest.

"She _always_ does this," Chloe murmured, blinking as tears ran down her face again. Quietly, Derek slid off his swing and sat down behind her, scooting them back until his back hit the wall and stroked her hair, kissing her temple.

"She just…she doesn't understand. I lost _both _my parents. I lost my mom because of me; I lost my dad because I caused my mom to go back and I killed her. I'm nothing but a mistake," she whispered into his chest.

"Chloe," he said darkly, "don't _ever _let me hear you say that. You _aren't _a mistake; you're breathtaking and sweet and your friends—me—we'd all miss you. Your mother would be proud; your father too. You're a beautiful, talented young woman and I'm so proud to have you."

She was crying again but she had a beautiful smile on her face. He tilted his head down and planted a soft kiss on her teeth.

He closed his eyes and told himself she was just playing along.

oOo

Since she didn't want to go back home, Chloe suggested they go into town. "Ice cream sound good?" he asked her quietly, sliding an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the sidewalk. People were staring at them like they were a freakshow.

"That sounds—" she started.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Chloe and the Cain Kid," sneered a voice.

Derek's arm tightened around her as he turned.

Royce Banks was standing aa few feet away, arms crossed as Liam Malloy, the blonde from the party, snarled under his breath.

"Ah, there's my man," Royce laughed.

Heads turned and several people stopped to watch.

Derek dropped a kiss onto Chloe's head and stepped forward.

The crowd's eyes zoomed in on him like a hawk.

"Come on, one little lick," Liam cackled, shuddering violently as though he were about burst out of his skin. He licked his lips and grinned fiercely, lifting his top lip high to show off sharpened canines.

Chloe discreetly edged between two parked cars.

Liam lunged and went to tackle Derek but the bigger boy bear hugged him. "Calm down, Jesus," he said as Liam kicked and bit and scratched.

"He's like a coyote or something," Ramon snickered.

Liam landed a well-timed kick to Derek's leg and the boy dropped his arms. Liam scrambled away like an animal on all fours, panting heavily. His eyes were wild, darting around the faces of the crowd.

"Derek!" Chloe screamed.

Before Derek could even react, Liam had sprung up and landed a solid uppercut to his jaw, blood spurting from his split lip. The pain made his eyes water as he stumbled, Liam throwing yet another punch, landing it square to his nose. Something crunched and heat gushed down his lips as he attempted to stop Liam without hurting him.

Ramon watched, oddly detached, his expression blank but his eyes trained on Chloe.

Derek twisted away from Liam's sharp swipe and landed a punch to the blonde's stomach. When Liam doubled over, Derek drove his shoulder into the skinnier boy's stomach, adding to the pain. Liam screeched as he hit the wall of the store behind him and wriggled like a wild animal, raking his hands across the side of Derek face, nails cutting in.

Liam found an opening when Derek lost his concentration and darted out between his legs. Derek didn't have any time to react before Liam was on his back, smacking him into the brick wall, and the rough texture tore open his cheek. Blood ran down his jaw, but he pushed the discomfort to the back of his mind and tried to twist away.

Liam pounded fist after fist into his face. Blood sprayed with every punch. His head swam and he felt like he was drowning. Hot blood filled his mouth as a figure tackled Liam. Derek turned his head and saw Chloe speaking quickly to a woman in dark blue.

A police officer.

When had the police arrived?

Two blue-clad people leaned over him, one shining a flashlight into his eyes, another checking his pulse.

He groaned and tried to pull himself up but one of the EMTs told him to lay still, that they were there to help, and then Chloe, sweet little Chloe was there by his side, holding his hand. Her eyes were wet with the tears that streaked down her rosy cheeks.

He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

* * *

They sent him to the hospital to clean up the lacerations from Liam's punches and to make sure he didn't have a concussion. Two police officers took his statement and the doctor cleared him to go home after they made sure he didn't have a concussion.

He wasn't even allowed to walk to the door; they made him be escorted in a wheelchair like a damn baby. On the ride home, he must've fallen asleep because he woke up on the lumpy couch in the living room at home.

"Why does my face hurt so damn much?" Derek asked the water-stained ceiling. He reached up and wiped away the sleep crusted in his eyes, letting his fingers softly trail to his nose, feeling the gauze.

"Damn," Simon laughed, "I thought you'd be all loopy on the pain meds."

"Haha. Very funny. Where's Chloe?" Derek looked around, taking in his living room and the TV playing some reruns of Full House. He felt like puking.

"She's in there with Dad."

He groaned.

"Dude, they were talking about the fight. Ramon wants her, doesn't he?" Simon flopped down on the couch.

Derek's gorge flopped around in his stomach.

"Shit. He does. He had Liam with him and..."he began.

"Your head matches your ego now," Tori said from her spot at the computer, Skyping with Liz.

"Have a bit of heart, why don't you? He just got back from the hospital after all," Chloe begged as she emerged from the kitchen, Kit following not shortly after.

"I don't think she does," Derek muttered loud enough for Tori to hear.

She laughed her ass off when the well-aimed pillow smacked him in the face and sent him in the fetal position for ten minutes.


	8. VIII

Repeat

Eight

"You look like a giant marshmallow," Chloe whispered quietly to Derek as she curled up into his side, feet tucked under his thighs.

He grunted and held her closer as Kit made dinner and Simon practiced his drums upstairs.

Since her fight with her aunt, she'd decided to stay over at the house until Lauren calmed down and Ben disappeared back into the shadows.

Her face still stung. _Everything I've done was for _you. Quietly, she pressed her face into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Everything ached and she felt so tired. The day's events were rushing to catch up to her, making her head feel fuzzy and her lids lower.

"Chloe?"

Eventually she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore and closed them, resting her cheek against his chest. Somewhere Derek's voice drifted to her, slipping in passed the growing embrace of sleep; she simply rolled over and surrendered to the sweet darkness, blocking out all her horrible thoughts and the crushing sensation of despair.

oOo

It was black as ink outside when she woke up, her eyes widening as she bolted out of an unraveling dream involving gore and screaming. Shivering, Chloe kicked away the tangled sheets and stared down at her tiny toes, the painted nails. When the lightening lit up the dark clouds, she saw the bed wasn't hers and neither were the books lining the walls or the desk in the corner, taken up with textbooks and papers.

She glanced up at the ceiling to see a rock band poster and Simon's familiar drawings up on the walls. The room _obviously _wasn't Tori's or Simon's; it must've been Derek's, then. Everything was neat, everything had a place.

_Neat freak. _

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and blinked hard to clear away the wisps of the dream. Still, she had chills running down her spine and a churning stomach, a familiar sensation to her anxiety.

After sliding the blankets back into place, Chloe crept to the door and peeked out. The long, bisected hallway was dim, but not so much so that she couldn't possibly navigate her way down the stairs at the end of the hall. As she carefully made her way, she noticed the lack of pictures on the wall of Derek but the abundance of Tori and Simon, hell, even Liz. _Weird. _The stairs creaked every other step and she froze with each one, wide-eyed, scarcely breathing as she waited for Kit's red, oak door to swing open and him to come flying out. When he didn't, she continued down the staircase, hand along the wall, feeling the paint.

On the landing, she glanced back, half expecting to see someone standing at the top of the stairs but there was only the shadows of the hallway, light crossing across the wall from a car passing in the court outside. Yawning, she hopped down the last few steps and shivered when her bare feet hit the cold tile.

Quietly, she turned and headed to the back porch.

oOo

The air was calm and it was quiet outside. The only thing she could here were the sounds of bugs chirping to one another, frogs calls cutting through the song of summer.

"Can't sleep, huh?"

She jumped, startled, and awkwardly fell off the swinging chair.

Wincing, Chloe sat up and saw Derek's face looming above her. Face hot, she muttered something like a profanity and took his outstretched hand, trying hard to ignore the sparks shooting up and down her spine.

"Y-yeah."

With a shake of his head, he sat down and patted the empty seat beside him. He looked dangerous in the pale moonlight, showing off his muscular arms in a thin tanktop and his legs in a pair of boxers; her face warmed at the sight of his body and she ducked her head down.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, feeling her voice break a bit as she dug her nails into her legs. Fighting back tears, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced the rest of the words out. "I'm sorry for being such a bother, a b-burden; I'm sorry that you're stuck in my fight with my aunt. Things aren't normally this bad and she's never hit me before and I—I feel like it's all rolling downhill without any breaks."

She sniffled and tried to stop the tears but they came down in a torrent to strong to block off. Her face burned.

"Chloe," Derek started but she bulldozed on.

"I understand if you don't want to be with me anymore, even though we aren't really—"

His hand grabbed her leg and she squawked, flailing her arms. With a curse and a bloody nose, he drew back, face scrunched up in agony.

"Oh my God. I'm _so _sorry!" she cried, forgetting about her predicament momentarily as she leaned close to him, inspecting the blood steadily from his nose and the bruises from yesterday's fight.

"Jesus, you have one hell of an arm."

Embarrassed she ducked her head down but he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. "Relax." His eyes gleamed. "But come help me fix up my nose." Taking her hand in his, he lead her back inside and she smiled weakly.

She could feel his pulse in his fingertips, squeezing her hand tightly and fiercely.

The house was still deathly silent, not even the foundation creaking under their slow feet; she could feel her heart pounding in her wrists and the bends of her knees. He was a tower in front of her, pausing every few feet to cock his head, listening to sounds she couldn't hear even when she strained to, before resuming ahead, leading the way like he always led girls in the dark house. At the thought of other girls being with him, Chloe scowled and gripped his hand tighter, as though she wanted to crush his huge fingers between hers.

"Here."

A door creaked open and light flickered on. It was a small half bathroom; a toilet was wedged in the far corner, hidden behind the blocky sink that took up most of the room. With a shrug, Derek crouched down and pulled open the twin cabinets. She stood in the doorway, tugging at her oversized pajama top, watching him curiously.

With a sigh, he pulled out a white box with a red cross on it. Setting it on the counter, he turned to her, wiping the blood from his nose.

"This okay to work in?" he asked.

Wordlessly, she nodded and guided him to the toilet, where he sat down abruptly.

Fingers trembling, she popped open the lid of the First Aid kit to begin.


	9. IX

Repeat

Nine

Somehow, she managed to stop his nosebleed and he looked at her while she washed her hands. Her hair was messy, curls sticking up, and she was wearing an extra pair of Tori's pajamas, the small swell of her breasts rising and falling. The only thing that struck him besides that were her feet and hands. He knew she was small, even compared to average-sized people like Tori but she looked so doll like, big doey eyes and soft, milky skin, tiny fingers and thin, almost painfully thin, wrists, bones sticking out of them. Spidery fingers. Her little toenails were painted sky blue.

When she dried her hands, he stood.

"A-are y-you—" she stammered, winding a curl around a finger.

He paused, just watching the blonde lock twist and twist; she did that when she was nervous, he realized. "Yeah. Not much worse than the number Liam did," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand twisting harder, yanking now. Her nails drummed on the counter top. "It's m-my fault y-you got hu-urt," she continued, her eyes shining in the dim light.

"Chloe, it isn't your fault at all."

"It is!" she argued and her lip trembled dangerously.

He wanted to press his mouth to hers, feel her sink into him, drag that trembling lip between his teeth and kiss her, _really _kiss her but quickly shook it off. If he did that, she'd run off screaming sexual assault. With his already bad rap, he didn't need to add sexual assault to his sheet.

"I-if I hadn't p-pissed him off, he w-wouldn't have gone after y-you," she explained quietly, lowering her eyes with each word until they rested on the tiled floor under their feet.

Derek shook his head.

Royce was a cocky, smartass bastard who didn't know when to shut his mouth, at least until someone took a swing at him and knocked him flat.

"It's not your fault," he repeated and stepped closer to her, breathing in her sweet shampoo.

It smelled like something she _would _wear, something light and sweet. Again, her curls bounced. "It's still m-my fault." Her voice cracked. A choked noise crept out of her as he slowly, carefully wrapped his arms around her.

"Don't blame yourself, okay?"

He could feel her, every inch, pressed firm against him. Her hair tickled his arms, tucked into the collar of her shirt, a few pieces licking his chin; the knobs of her spine pressed into his hands, each bump alive under his fingers. Her small breasts dug into his chest. Her toes touched his. She was barely half his size, her head touched his chest, breasts to his stomach, hips to his thighs.

"I promise, Chloe. It isn't," he whispered, dropping a kiss to her curls.

"I—"

He cut her off. "No," he snapped, pushing her away and holding her at arms length.

She looked scared, her eyes huge and pale in the light.

Behind her, the house was silent, dark, and almost empty. The walls were shrouded with shadows, the floors held icy glaciers. Open windows looked out at the dark woods. Leaves rattled and branches scraped the house's sidings.

She looked untouchable.

"I promise," he sighed again, pressing her against him.

She muttered something quietly, some sort of noise and then buried her face in his chest. She was warm and soft under his touch, melting to him; he wanted to kiss her, suddenly and see her eyes round and her face red, lips red. He wanted to see if her mouth was as sweet as her face.

"I won't be able to sleep," he told her softly, brushing his fingers through her curls.

"I'm sleepy though," she said and yawned, leaning into him. Part of her sleeve slipped way from her throat and he saw the jutting sharpness of her collarbone. If he wasn't careful, he could really, seriously hurt her. _Like a monster, _he thought dimly and something inside him coiled in on itself, growing colder and colder. Quietly and gently, he pushed her away and held her at arms length. She looked so soft, so fragile. "Come on," he murmured and, in a flash, she had wrapped her arms around his neck and fastened her legs tight round his waist. His hand shot out, grasping her bum and she pressed her face into his hair.

"Stay with me," she begged and her voice lit up his nerves, sparking something hot inside him.

_But you'll only hurt her, like you always do, _a dark, angry part of him hissed.

"Chloe," he breathed and he sounded raspy, hoarse, his voice weak. "Chloe, _please_." He hated how his throat ached and his voice broke.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Please."

She unwound her arms, her legs, and stared up at him, confusion shining her baby blues.

He took a breath. His heart was pounding, fierce, against his ribs and each thump sent them cracking, pieces flying off, shards embedding in his skin.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly.

Understanding dawned on her snowy face. "You won't," she told him firmly.

He wanted so desperately to believe her, to buy into her quiet voice, to throw his mistakes to the wind and leave everything he'd done behind him. But he couldn't. This wasn't some romance novel. He was a monster and he'd end up hurting her.

"No," she hissed, her eyes flashing, "You _aren't._ I know what monsters are…and they're sleaze bags like Royce and Liam, who use fear and pain to get their way, regardless of the consequences." During her speech, she reached up and placed her tiny, cold hands on each cheek, thumbs rubbing against his cheekbones gently.

"I—" He started to protest.

"Shut up, for once, Derek," she snapped and he had to admit he liked this bold Chloe almost as much as he liked the shy, innocent one. "You _aren't _a monster," she murmured, hands gripping the sides of his face. "And if you hurt me, it'd never be intentionally."

With those words, she pressed her mouth to his and he believed her.


	10. X

Repeat

Ten

Early the next morning, Derek was bolted awake to the sound of someone hammering on the door.

"Open up! It's the Buffalo Police!"

Being the light sleeper he was, he answered the door with a scowl fixed on his face, Chloe stirring in the living room.

The officer's head tilted up to look into the teenager's face, and all the color in his cheeks drained.

Behind him stood Lauren, her face tear-stained and her eyes bloodshot; the man with strawberry hair shuffled his feet behind all of them, hovering near the police car.

"What's going on?" Derek asked calmly, gripping the door in a huge hand.

"You kidnapped my niece!" Lauren shrieked indignantly, lurching forward as though to throw herself at him.

He shuffled back a few steps, watching her closely as the officer restrained her.

"Shut up," Derek muttered, scowling as he heard the coils in the sofa creaked.

The blankets rustled and crackled.

"Liar! You're nothing but a monster!" Lauren hissed, hatred pure on her face as her blue-grey eyes blazed. Her pin-straight hair was falling out of the messy bun, pieces flopping into her face that's slowly turning redder and redder. She was volcanic, ready to explode with lava and profanity, every polite-but-still-stinging insult imaginable pouring out of her mouth.

"Lauren, you need to calm down," Ben instructed somewhere behind the commotion.

The doctor paused and then wheeled, teeth bared in a rabid dogged fashion. "You need to shut your mouth before I _make _you!" she spat before turning back around.

"Aunt Lauren?"

Derek craned his neck, twisting halfway to see Chloe standing a few feet beyond the fridge, adorably rumpled in Tori's oversized pajamas, but missing the long-sleeved shirt, instead wearing a tank-top. Her curls were framing her face in a messy array, cheeks rosy and eyes lidded with fatigue.

"Chloe!" Lauren scrabbled forward, grinning wide as she squeezed passed Derek rudely, digging her bony elbow in either intentionally or unintentionally due to her spastic flailing to get to Chloe.

"What're you doing here?" Confusion flashed across the blonde's dollish face as the neurosurgeon scooped her fiercely into an embrace.

Derek ran a hand through his hair, slamming the door in the cop's face.

"What do you want?" he growled, crossing his arms over his chest and Lauren's face dropped into a glare.

"I'm taking Chloe home. If you'll _excuse _me," she said and started for the door; he quickly stepped in front of it.

"Just like that? You snap your fingers and show up at my house at—" he squinted "—eight am to drag Chloe back? And for what? To hit her again? To berate her and belittle her?"

Any color in Lauren's flushed face had blanched. "I-I would never—"

He took a slow, calculated step, towering and level his stare. "You've schemed and pushed to have your way, treating Chloe like you did Jennifer. Hell, you pushed Steve off the edge he was teetering on, trying to stay alive for _her._" He jabbed in Chloe's direction. "You made her feel insignificant, made her cry herself to sleep and try to swallow pretty white pills to make it stop." Suddenly, abruptly, he didn't care; he just let go of everything and let it out.

"You say I'm a menace? Why? Is there _any _evidence besides rumors to back up your fear? If not, I suggest you get out of my house before I do something we'll all regret." He was panting, sweat rolling down his temples as Lauren gaped up at him with a mixture of horror, fear, and anger. He could feel the pulse pound in his ears, blood rushing as his heartbeat drummed in his fingertips.

"See?" Her voice warbled out, cracked and tiny. She slowly puffed herself up. "This is why you need to break it off with him! He's volatile. He could lose his cool and kill you, Chloe. I'm only thinking of what's best for you. I'm sure Jennifer would too."

Silence.

Someone was walking heavily upstairs and a door slammed. Water pipes groaned and rattled.

"I would _never _hurt Chloe. I may be a lot of things, rude, antisocial, sarcastic, but an abuser? No. Not even when I lose control." He tilted his chin up. The next words rolled off his tongue without his permission, ghosts seeping out. "I've seen and had enough abuse for a lifetime."

Being bounced from house to house for five years since the day he was born made him bound to see some horrible things, albeit fuzzy as they were. Mainly faint screams, the sound of skin hitting bone, leather on skin, the stink of cigarettes. The burn of cigarettes digging into his skin, the rancid breath of the evil woman leaning over him, lots of hungry nights—no, hungry _weeks_ spent curled up on a dingy, urine-stained mattress, trying to ignore the gnawing pains in his tiny, empty belly. Loud music vibrating the window panes, female laughter mingling with the stench of dirty laundry and dishes. Flies buzzing and smashing themselves into windows.

Disgust flittered across Lauren's red face as Chloe shook her head, hands clasped against her mouth.

"Derek," she whispered sadly, sympathy wetting her blue ocean eyes and something hard and cold seeped out of him, the fight extinguished by her lovely, lonely voice.

He held himself up only because Lauren and the cop and the red-blonde man were still there; had they not been, he would've crumpled to the tiled floor in a pitiful little boy pile and try to forget the memories.

"Oh. Hi." It was Tori, sweeping her black-nailed fingers through her hair, slinking in. A sour look crossed her face as she brushed passed Chloe, opening the fridge. "What antics bring you here?" She pulled out the nearly-expired carton of orange juice and drank from it, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand when she was done.

Lauren wrinkled her nose slightly.

"That's unhygienic," Kit said as he shuffled in, red indents on his face from where he slept with his reading glasses on. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Lauren. "Derek?" His voice was feathery, whisper soft. "What's this all about?"

Chloe answered.

"Apparently, I'm a kidnap victim, Lauren is my rescuer, and Derek is the kidnaper." She flashed a crooked half smile at Kit.

"Just another morning in the Bae household," Tori chimed without missing a beat.


	11. XI

Repeat

Eleven

The pressure in Derek's ears was mounting until he felt like his head was giant, a balloon tied to his shoulders, bobbing in the air. He turned, gulping down huge mouthfuls of air, and headed for his room.

"Derek?" Chloe sounded faraway but panicky.

The steps never looked so daunting and, stumbling fiercely, he managed to hobble up the steps. At the landing, he glanced down. Chloe, Kit and Tori were gathered at the bottom, like little mismatched ants, staring up at him worriedly. Lauren smirked behind Kit— the bitch looked so fucking smug,—and Derek continued. A vice was squeezing his ribs, breaking the bone and replacing it with shards of glass.

"Derek?" Kit's voice was high-pitched as Derek stumbled, tripping over his own feet.

The wall hit his arm and paint rubbed off powdery onto his sweatshirt.

"D-Derek?" It was Chloe.

His hands shook as he reached out for the railing, his fingers outstretched for the smooth wood. His body was already crumpling to the steps but his fingers missed the railing. The edge of the step dug into his ankles as he clawed to his feet once more.

"W-what's wrong?" She was right behind him, close enough to smell her sticky sweet shampoo, her hands on his back.

"Can't," he muttered, trying to choke the words out passed his tight, tight throat, the vice squeezing painfully, crushing his ribs, making it hard to breathe. "Hey, hey, it's alright," she said, placing a tiny hand on his arm and he stared at the sharp black-and-white contrast against their skin tones—hers, so light and smooth, his, so dark and hairy—and shook his head.

"Can't see the boy is _obviously _disturbed?" Lauren asked from the bottom of the staircase, a victorious smirk splashed across her face.

Derek teetered, fighting to keep his balance.

"Stop it," Chloe told her aunt.

"He's sick. He just wants attention and you shouldn't give it to him. I've seen it plenty of times, kids pretending to be sick after traumatic experiences," Lauren continued as though she hadn't heard her niece.

Kit turned to her, scowling fiercely.

"Stop," Chloe said more fiercely.

"It's understandable that he's seeking the attention he didn't get when he was younger. Add the neglect and abuse he sustained for the first five year—" Lauren was staring straight him, every word piercing into his chest, making the vice become a clamp, breaking his ribcage.

"_Shut up!" _Chloe yelled suddenly and Lauren's face reddened, her eyes wide and huge.

Tori smirked as Kit calmly stated, "You will not come into my house and disrupt my family in such a way. It's unacceptable, coming from a grown woman."

The color in Lauren's face drained. She looked ghastly now, all the fight leaking out of her. Almost immediately, she looked to Chloe, who gave her a dark, flat look, and she deflated like a leaky balloon.

"I-I'm only trying to make you see, Chloe," Lauren tried in a quivering voice as Derek's knees gave way, making him crumple for a minute but he forced his feet up the last few steps anyway. The last thing he wanted was for a woman who hated him see him at one of his weakest points. Several droplets of sweat rolled down his face, soaking the neck and underarms of his shirt. Pieces of his hair clung to his slick skin and something inside of his chest was tightening, coiling like a spring.

Chloe wheeled, her tiny fingers digging into his shoulder, and snapped, sharply and brusquely, "You _aren't_. At _all. _I know you're trying to help, but this is ridiculous."

Derek turned to look at Lauren over his shoulder and shot her a withering glare. Horror and panic flashed across her face, marring her features.

"Pathetic," he said and shrugged off Chloe gently as he wiped the rivulets of sweat out of his face. "You're pathetic, Lauren. Rot in hell."

Derek swallowed passed his rising wave of panic and tightened his grip on the banister, forcing down all the sticky-hot memories and the ghost of a belt. When Chloe's hand touched him, he pulled away and he could see the hurt in her ocean eyes. "I can't do this right now," he rasped, his throat tight, his voice squeezing out. Her huge eyes looked at him like she couldn't believe him, disbelief all over her face. "I can't—" A fierce pain exploded in his stomach, like being kicked with pretty, black heels, all weight bared down there.

The pain was so sharp that he nearly doubled but forced himself to stay standing; he wouldn't give Lauren the satisfaction of seeing him breaking down. He blinked away the sweat and tears, wiping his face. As he did that, a memory exploded around him, smothering the reality of teetering on the top step amongst his family.

The Vulture was a skinny woman, with sleek black hair. She was gaunt and pale, bones sticking out, a cigarette hanging from her lips. A shimmery dress made her skin all red and itchy and she'd pick at the scrapes until they were bloody welts, ugly and bruised and puffy. While they struggled to focus, her eyes were perpetually bloodshot and her face was bruised, gaunt as it was. She always smelled like booze, the sharp tangy kind. "Oh, my poor baby," she would laugh, showing off lipstick-stained teeth. The ashes scattered off the glowing end of her cigarette, burning his eyes as he squirmed. With her elbow, the Vulture closed the door and teetered towards him on high, cheap heels, clicking the entire way.

Derek clawed upright, ignoring the angry, gnawing pains in his stomach, the growling, and stared, wide-eyed up at the woman stumbling towards him. One look at her neck, barren and skinny like a chicken's, and he knew she'd been downstairs entertaining her guests, the ones who weren't exactly bad men but they still made him uneasy. They'd feed him scraps when the Vulture wasn't looking, telling him to be a good boy and they'd bring help soon (little did he know it would entail guns and lots of bad bloods).

"You little rat bastard," she slurred as she sloshed towards him, her shadow falling across him. His heart jumped into his throat as she kicked off one heel and then fell flat on her ass, legs spread. Her thighs were dotted with bruises. "I know you've been stealing from me," the Vulture spat, cigarette ashes punctuating each word.

"I'll teach your sorry ass to steal from me, thief." In a great leap of motion, she had wretched him onto his back and struck him, hard, with the heel of her shoe across the cheek; something chattered. It hurt so bad, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

He had only been four.

"Derek!"

He opened his eyes to find himself pinning Chloe against him, squeezing her tighter, and when he looked up into her eyes, he saw the sadness.

"I'm sorry, Derek. I'm so sorry. I couldn't save you soon enough," she whispered against his hair and he still tasted the gritty ashes from the Vulture.

"Lauren left." Kit was climbing the steps.

"Hate that bitch." Tori scowled.

"She can be a bitch, but she's all I've got," Chloe said.

Derek dug his fingers into her hips, feeling the hot flesh, the delicate bones digging into his palms, and pressed his face into her breast. The tremors racked through him relentlessly.

And she held him.


	12. XII

Repeat

Twelve

After Lauren left, it was like the floodgates that had been wielded shut had been hacked open. Every night, while Derek slept, his memories bled into his dreams, a vacant sort of haze that was threaded between reality and fantasy. A mixture of hot, sour tears and metallic blood shifted into the sharp sting of a metal buckle on his back and dry, scratchy hands on his throat, crushing his windpipe, blood-red talons digging into his skin.

It had been half a year since he first met Chloe, her honeyed hair gleaming in the light as she sat on the truck-bed of his truck, sipping a beer; it had only been about a week since Lauren laid his demons for all to see, to gape at and snicker about while he couldn't do a thing. He never spoke a word to anyone about it; he wasn't a weakling.

The dream-memories made him sick to his stomach, tears in his eyes, blurring everything when he woke up in a cold, sheet-soaked sweat. He couldn't count how many times he'd stuffed his knuckles into his mouth to keep the screams down, lest he wake his dad. The last thing he needed was Kit stumbling in only to find his son in his bed, sweat-sodden, dewy-eyed.

"You look tired," Chloe sighed quietly, baby blues half lidded as she wound her arms around his side, her ear pressed against his side, against his ribcage.

The sound of hundreds—they only have about two hundred students at their tiny but cozy school—of half-asleep teenagers shuffling their shoes as they zombie-walked to classes, some of them far more energetic than others, yelling and cussing, banging on lockers. Clusters of teens blocked out the hallway, clouding the others progression down to their class.

A meek freshman bumped into Derek and looked up, face flushed red. As soon as the kid looked up and recognized him, all the red drained from his face and he scampered on down the hall, scurrying as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him. Derek watched him run absently. _So that's how they all see me, _he thought dimly, _a monster. _The bitter smile spread across his mouth without his permission and several of his classmates faces went white with panic and fear.

Behind him, he could the whispering, fierce and loud, far too loud _not _to be heard. "Ignore them," Chloe whispered, her expression determined and fierce, her lower lip jutting out.

Though he knew she was desperately trying to appear strong for his meager sake, he thought she looked cute. "Don't," he murmured against her ear as he slid her arm from around his side, carefully extracting himself from her grasp.

The determined expression faltered.

"I'll see you later," he told her smoothly, dropping a kiss onto her curls before he ducked into one of the quieter hallways that branched off the main one.

"Look who it is." A figure stepped out of an unoccupied classroom. Royce. His dark hair was messy and his eyes were wild; he looked utterly unhinged, ready to sink his teeth into Derek and pour out his secrets. Flanking him on either side was a faintly familiar scruffy blonde in a plaid shirt and a stockier, dark-haired guy wearing ripped jeans.

The blonde slinked forward, licking his lips hungrily as he eyeballed Derek, sizing him up, dropping into a crouch.

"Back off, Liam," Royce hissed and the blonde danced back, lithe and smooth like a wild cat.

"Just a few licks," he begged in a harsh, raspy voice as though someone had crushed his vocals long ago.

Royce laid a hand on Liam's shoulder and shifted his leg in front of the blonde's, backing him up.

The stocky guy rolled his shoulders slightly and bared his teeth, cracking his neck and knuckles. His deep-set eyes glanced over Derek's shoulder, to the crowd peering in, and leaned back.

"You know what I want. You took her from me. I want her back. I can make her happy in ways you never can," Royce said, shifting forward and Derek tensed, rolling his weight backward in case he needed to quickly retreat.

The shorter of the two noticed and laughed heartily, although it sounded sharp and false. It reminded Derek of girls who hated someone but pretended to be nice, with biting smiles that looked more predatory than friendly and cool remarks that were double-edged.

Derek bristled fiercely, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as tension charged the air.

Liam dropped back into a low crouch. A low grumble bubbled from his chest, squeezing passed his tightly clenched, bared teeth. He sprung, as though he were a coil being let go, and the impact sent Derek careening backwards, into the hall. Kids screamed and stared.

"I'm going to have lots and _lots _of fun with that cute little blonde. How old is she? Thirteen, fourteen?" Liam smacked his lips mockingly and it made Derek's stomach twist at the feral expression, livid, on his face. He tried to wiggle away, to roll out from under the shorter blonde but he head-butted him and he saw stars.

* * *

His face was swollen and puffy. It reminded him painfully of those long nights, curled up in the darkness while the Vulture entertained the strange, grimy men with her "womanly charms"—as though she _had _any—and he hugged his aching arm against his stomach tighter, rocking ever so slightly.

"I understand that your son as a violent history but this is unacceptable," the principal, a hawk-faced man who looked like the male version of the Vulture named Davidoff, cried and the jar of pens on his desk trembled as he hit the desk with his fist to punctuate his words; as though the red hue on his balding head was any indication of his obvious agitation.

Derek wasn't in the mood to explain the situation; even if he did, Davidoff would side with Banks.

Liam, sporting a bust lip and swollen eye with an icepack, drew back his lips against his teeth and bared bloodstained canines. They looked like they'd been filed to a point, like he needed to look eve more menacing.

Mr. Malloy, a tall, dark-haired man in an olive-green aviator's jacket despite the sweltering heat, shot his son a flat, black look. He dwarfed even in the room except Derek, who was close to his height; when he lifted his head to Derek, there was a sort of admiration clear on his face.

"Suspended," sighed Kit, running his hands up and down his age-old face.

Derek felt a large spasm of sadness for forcing this on his poor old father and stood awkwardly. His arm throbbed as Davidoff leaned across the desk, sweat shiny on his wide forehead, and shook hands with first Kit and then Mr. Malloy.

As Kit and Liam headed out, Mr. Malloy looped back and stopped Derek. "Now," he said in a thick Southern accent that could've rivaled a Civil War confederate soldier's, "I don't like fightin' that much. But, my boy, you are a mighty fighter." He shrugged something out of his coat, a little card.

_Malloy and Co.'s Boxing Classes._

"Maybe you'd like a chance in the ring," he suggested and headed off to usher his son out the doors. Kids stared and whispered and gawked at Derek and Kit as they made their way to the parking lot. An old pickup with the confederate flag inched passed them and Liam stared out, bored, as his father spoke to him. When he noticed Derek, he flipped him the bird and lifted his lip, showing off his bloody teeth.

"Now, tell me why you got into a fight with that young man," Kit demanded as soon as Derek squeezed himself into the tiny seat of the sedan. His arm hurt again, although not as bad as his stomach.


	13. XIII

Repeat

Thirteen

The swelling of Derek's face went down throughout the span of the week, although the bruises didn't. People in the little town gawked and whispered and tittered behind their hands. Despite how tight his jaw would get, he never said anything to the adults or the kids; no, instead, he squared his shoulders and pretended it didn't bother him. Even as they held hands, his tight around hers, he never quite relaxed, which made her heart ache.

After meeting him at the party, she'd seen him around, admiring him from afar, feeling her face heat up whenever they crossed paths; now, she was even more hyper aware of him and she could gauge his moods by the set of his jaw.

Before the fight with Liam, instigated by Royce, he hadn't been tense and now, she had to repeat what she said to him three or four times before it sank in and he answered.

That was weeks ago.

"Derek," Chloe said as she stopped in her tracks and watched him shuffle along, lost in thought, "let's go somewhere tonight."

He turned halfway, his eyes flickering from the end of the street where two moms twittered under the guise of window-shopping, and then he angled himself towards her.

"Huh?" he muttered.

She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils and pulled her hand out of his; once her hand was sweat free, she wrapped an arm around his strong bicep and repeated, louder, "Let's go somewhere tonight. Just me and you. No Lauren, not Kit or Tori or Simon."

His expression was halfway hopeful and halfway worried.

"Sure," he said dryly, his tone dull.

She tried to smile up at him, but she was pretty sure it came out as a grimace. Dejectedly, she pulled her hand away from him, and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets. Down at the front of a store, the two moms stopped and watched them in fascination, as though they were animals in a scientific experiment.

"Never mind," she sighed acidly, letting her temper flare at his lack of response and turned on her heel. "I'm going to head home. Bye." Frost crept over the bite of her words and she felt her lips tingle with an artic chill; worst of all, Derek didn't even so much as blink, which made her even angrier, and she walked away quickly, hoping she didn't stumble and ruin the angry aura.

Most importantly, part of her wanted to flip him off, just to give those gossiping hags something to tut about, but decided against it.

_Why bother? _a little voice in the back of her mind hissed, velveteen and smooth, a razor blade softened with linens. _He _obviously _isn't interested in such a little girl like you. _Hot prickles stabbed behind her eyes as she hurried around the corner, hunching her shoulders. When she glanced over her shoulder, disappointment flooded her when she saw that Derek hadn't come after her, but then she remembered how distant he'd been since his fight and shoved it down to the bottom of her toes.

Each step sent a fresh batch of ice flooding her system, numbing her. Maybe it was just depression setting in, what with the days getting shorter and shorter now, edging towards fall or maybe it was the rain that threatened to blacken the sky; whatever it was, it did nothing to help Chloe's foul mood.

oOo

Lauren was pleased when Chloe came home early, and, most importantly, alone. Despite having some down time, the doctor had opted to stay at the hospital to cover some other doctors' shifts since they were absent, leaving her niece alone with her sad, spiraling thoughts and thick, warm pajama pants.

Chloe flicked on the TV as background noise, and thought about calling Derek to cuss him out for ignoring her this week, but thought better of it and turned off all the lights instead, but not before she poured herself a glass of ginger ale. O

nce the room was dim enough, she flopped down onto the couch with her cup in hand, flipped to some nature documentary, and curled up after she set down the glass, tucking her toes into the line where the couch cushions met. The light hue of the TV flashed across the insides of her eyelids as the calming narrator spoke about eagles and bears and the snowy terrain, drawing her mind away from her so-called boyfriend.

Now that she thought about it, they'd met in the beginning of summer, June, and now it was September. The first month flew by quickly, and she never paused to think about what they were; of course, the whole relationship was beneficial to both of them—getting Royce off her back and Rae off his—but what _were _they now? Friends, or something deeper? Were they a couple? Was it real now, while she fell for him despite his lack of response this week, or was it façade still, meant to push off their predators?

Chloe sighed heavily and pressed her face into the pillow, feeling the satiny fabric rub against her cheek, and watched the TV program for a little while. When she couldn't keep her eyes open again, she turned down the TV and lumbered off the couch to double check that all the windows and front and back doors were locked. Sure enough, they were. Satisfied, she sat back down, changed the station to old re-runs of a eighties kids shows, and closed her eyes. The ticking of the grandfather clock made an easy beat to breath to. Every other click was an inhale; the others were exhales.

_I want to give up, _she thought absently as a wave of exhaustion crashed over her from a lack of sleep from sitting on her desktop for far too long, too much homework, the part-time as a waitress, and Derek's moodiness drawing out her nerves. The fatigue wave peaked and settled over her shoulders like a blanket.

A few hours later, she kicked off the blankets at the sound of heavy knocking and stumbled to the door, wincing when she stubbed her toe. The knocking was loud, and painfully contrasted against the still of the quiet house.

Yawning, she opened the door and nearly keeled over.

Derek Souza stood on her front porch, his eyes alert for the first time in a while, with a bunch of roses in his fist. "Let's go somewhere tonight," he said, with a tiny twitch that might've been a smile but she wasn't one hundred percent sure, "just you and me."


	14. XIV

Repeat

Fourteen

Anger blossomed in her veins and she bristled, narrowing her eyes at him, the slicked-back hair and the rumpled flowers, the tiny smile on his mouth.

One half of her begged _please take him back, look at his tiny little smile and he's such a cute dork _and the other half snarled _yeah, sure, go back to him, just so he can ignore you again and act like he's got more important things on his mind. _Her fingers flexed methodically around the edge of the wood, her other hand twisting into a fist around the fabric of her pajama pantleg as she ground her teeth.

"How can you?" she demanded, pushing a finger deep into the expanse of his chest. The tiny quirk of a smile faded. "Don't think you can come in here and try to woo me with flowers and pretend as though you _haven't _been ignoring me all week! A crushed bouquet and an 'I'm sorry' isn't going to fix this, Derek. Do you have _any _idea how I felt, trying to talk to a puppet who couldn't give a damn?" Lifting a hand, she rubbed her chest where the ache was.

"I didn't—" he tried, lowering the flowers. His expression turned sad and confused, just the barest hint of the emotions; it felt like a robot trying to be human, mimicking their expressions with their emotions.

Rage boiled her veins into smoke, evaporating any logic. She gripped the door with both hands and stomped down hard on his foot; he stumbled back with a short, guttural grunt of pain as a quick, brief fury crossed his handsome face.

"Do you have _any _idea how badly it hurts to be ignored? Especially by the person you're in a relationship with?" She drew a shaky, thick breath, struggling to keep the tears at bay. "I know you're trying to deal with the fight, but I want to help you. You can't just keep it bottled inside. One day, you're going to snap, and hurt someone very important to you, and I could've stopped it."

Another shaky breath burned her lungs. "I can't do this anymore, Derek, especially if you block me out. I want to be there for you, like a _real _girlfriend, but I can't do that if you don't trust me enough to treat me like I'm even remotely equal to you." The tears, which had been pooling in her eyes, fell down her face, burning hot; her hands, curled into claws, covered her face to hide the tears that dripped down her cheeks.

"Chloe, I—" he tried again, his face twisted in anguish, but she dropped her hands away from her face and narrowed her eyes, feeling unkempt locks of hair fall cross her vision.

"No! Just shut _up!_ I can't keep doing this! I'm done, Derek. I'm fucking _done_," she screamed, her voice shrill and croaky, and shoved the door shut with a loud, reverberating slam. The window panes shuddered, vibrating; the glass warbled. He pounded on the door a few times, calling her name, but she shook her head and slid the bolt lock into place. From there, she slid down and cried until her lungs ached and she made herself vomit.

* * *

Lauren was, as expected, overjoyed about the breakup, but put on a flimsy exterior of sympathy.

"You don't have to pretend like you're sad about it," Chloe hissed, squeezing her hands into weak fists. She sounded stuffy and raspy and she was pretty sure she didn't look very threatening. When Lauren opened her mouth to argue or berate her, Chloe cut her off shortly.

"No, you're absolutely _thrilled _to see him gone. I don't think you ever even gave him a real chance. You took one look at him and saw a big, scary guy and thought 'oh, he's totally bad news' based on his looks! He can't help it."

To punctuate her tirade, the little blonde crossed her arms over her chest and locked her gaze on the picture frame at the landing of the stairs. It was before Jennifer died, the last big trip all of them had together. She remembered bickering with Lauren over the color of her dad's shorts—they were _totally _salmon, not peach—and Steve laughing so hard, he had to hightail it to the toilet so he didn't pee himself. Jennifer had thought it was funny, and had sat in this big picnic chair, her legs crossed and golden. Big sunglasses took up most of her face, but her smile, snow-white against the brown skin of her tanned face, was big enough to rival the sunglasses.

"Do you ever miss her? Or do you think you can replace her?" Chloe asked quietly, staring into her younger self's eyes.

They were a clear, happy blue. Lauren was on one side, wearing a ridiculous amount of sunscreen and still looking lobster-red; Steve and Jennifer were hugging each other on the other side of Chloe; and she herself just looked so happy, surrounded by people who loved her, cared for her.

"How do you miss a person you hardly even knew?" Lauren was walking across the room, an angry jerk in her walk.

Heat flooded Chloe's face. "I don't know, but at least I'm not repla—" She hadn't realized Lauren was right next to her until the hand connected with her cheek and the sound of skin meeting skin rang hollow in her ears. Bright, red pain flared and the sound of blood rushing in her ears blocked out anything else Lauren might have said. "Mom would have never hit me. _Never_," Chloe whispered brokenly as she turned and took the five steps to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lauren demanded in her short voice, which made Chloe's skin prickle with fear.

"Away from you." With those bittersweet words on her tongue, Chloe pulled open the front door and took off running, hearing Lauren scream after her. There was always the chance she'd use the car to hunt Chloe down but right now she needed space.

_How do you miss a person you hardly even knew?_

* * *

A/N: This chapter hits a bit close to home, because I don't know the woman who gave birth to me because she disappeared a bit after my seventh birthday and my father got full custody, and in 2004, my grandmother died of cancer. In Loving Memory of Julie.


	15. XV

Repeat

Fifteen

It was just beginning to grow dark outside when she shuffled back home, her eyes puffy from crying and her lungs burning, a knife in her side twisting so violently it left her breathless. After she'd stormed out of the house, her cheek burning, she walked around the circuit of the neighborhood three times slowly, ducking behind tree whenever she thought she saw her aunt's dark-blue suburban.

All the lights inside were dark, which meant her aunt was either asleep or at the hospital, and her car wasn't in the driveway or—peeking on her tiptoes through the garage's side door—so Chloe figured she was at the hospital. Her stomach twisted. The last time she'd left angry at an adult in her life, she came home to find him slumped over his desk with his brains splattered in the master bedroom, the gun on the floor by his foot.

Sighing heavily to herself, she punched in the garage code and kicked off her shoes on the stairs that lead up into the house. Being alone in the house reminded her too much of that night, climbing up the stairs, her heart in her throat, pulse beating in her ears like drums. She remembered her hands were shaking as she climbed up the stairs to the second floor, sweat cold on her skin, the steps creaking under her weight. When she had reached the landing, she turned left and entered the master bedroom. It had been dark, so she flicked on the light, ready to apologize, but saw her dad slumped over his oak desk, his back to her. He'd fallen asleep doing work, and her heart had swelled.

"Daddy?" she'd asked, stepping closer; she felt a bolt roll through her when she stepped in something cold and wet. Pee? Water? She'd looked down and saw something red pooled in the carpet. More red puddles stained the carpet, soaked deeply into the fabric, and then there were chunks of pink everywhere: on the bed, on the back of the chair, on the comforter chest, on the carpet.

"Daddy?"

He hadn't even stirred. She'd walked closer, darting around the red puddles, and noticed something dark in the midst of his curls; under the light, it looked like he'd washed only the back of his head maybe. She'd touched his shoulder, gently, and shoved. He had shifted and then slumped back again. With shaking fingers, she had poked a finger into the black mass at the back of his head and stepped away frantically, tears rolling down her cheeks. It had been a hole in the back of his head. Something had crunched underneath her foot and she looked down; there was a gun.

As she walked through the house now, years after finding him, she flicked on all the lights. Monsters hid in the corners of shadows, and she really didn't feel like sitting up all night, waiting for him to come crawling across the bed, getting brains and blood all over her comforter. Instead, she headed into the shower, stripped down, and sat under a boiling spray of hot water, scrubbing the imaginary blood off her hands until her fingers turned to mini prunes, until her skin was raw and ached, chafed. After the shower, her hair dripping cold water down her back, she gingerly applied lotion to soothe her raw skin and dressed in a holy t-shirt and padded down the hall to sit in her father's chair, remembering the feel of the wet cushion when she grabbed it all those years ago.

A light tapping pulled her from her thoughts and she turned to the hall, where the faint clicking continued, each tap more persistent than the last; reluctantly, fear pulsing through her veins, she headed towards her room. The noise was the loudest in there. She leaned over her desk and peered down into the dark expanse of the yard, half-confused, half-frightened.

"Open up!" a voice hissed.

Shock rocked her backwards.

"Damn it, Chloe! Open your fucking window!" the voice continued.

She wretched the window pane wide and thrust her head out. "Derek?" she whispered into the darkness and then spotted Derek as a pair of headlights cut across the lawn, highlighting the dark shock of hair and his pale, drawn face.

"Come downstairs. Please." His low, thunderous voice was nothing more than a whisper, but it reached her nonetheless and, despite how angry she was, it was the fact that sweet-and-asshole Derek Souza said please to her.

"Give me a minute," she called down and scrambled into some sweats that were lying on the floor as she closed the window with one hand. She checked underneath her bed for her flip-flops, slid into them, and ran down the steps. When she pulled open the door, Derek was standing on the bottom step, head tilted back to stare up at the full, yellow moon hanging above them, back to her. For a moment, time stopped as she stared at him. Broad, muscular shoulders, a tense back, a nice ass, long legs and muscular arms. Long, black hair curled at the base of his neck.

"I'm sorry that I've been a complete dick," he said without turning around, "and I've been trying for your sake, for our sake, not to be. It's hard to not be a complete asshole. It's like a defense mechanism. If you mess up, you apologize. If I mess up, I shut down. I know, I didn't mess up. I…didn't have the best childhood."

"Derek?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm sorry." He heaved a sigh and spun on his heel, facing her, tilting his head down a bit to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm such a douchebag, who couldn't see he was hurting the most beautiful girl he's ever met. I understand if you want to break things up."

"No," she said quietly, "I don't want to break up. I want this to be real. I don't want to pretend. What you and I…what we have is real. I want to try. I want to go on dates and hold your hand and eat ice cream with you." It all came out in a rush and, much to her horror, her voice cracked with every other word.

They stared at each other.

"Can I try something?" she asked.

He nodded and leaned further down.

All that explosive anger that she'd held onto for so long bloomed and she struck him across the cheek as hard as she could. He took the blow with his knees and rocked stiffly from side to side.

"I deserved that," he murmured, opening his eyes, and she was speechless by how long his eyelashes were, like they'd been dipped in ink, setting off the green of his eyes, so vibrant and full of remorse and resignation. "I've been so horrible to you. How could you even want to pretend to be with me?"

"Derek, I do want to be with you. For real. But this isn't Twilight, where I'll forget about how much you ignored me while lost in la-la land," she told him, soothing the red skin of his face with the back of her hand.

"We can try," he promised, pressing a tender kiss against her temple, despite the bruises on his face. She smiled.

"We can," she agreed, looking forward. "Friday, okay? Ice cream and a movie, maybe dinner."

He nodded and, biting his lip, pressed a slow kiss against her cheek. He smelled bitter like sweat, and before she could relish in it, he turned and jogged away.


	16. XVII

Repeat

Seventeen

True to her word, she showed up to the house a little after four, dressed in a t-shirt dress that fell around her thighs, accenting her delicate calves and the black flats she wore. Her hair was pulled back into a loose French braid, draped over one shoulder.

"Hi," she said, smiling.

He managed a smile. _Dear god, help me. _"Hey," he greeted quietly, stepping out next to her. In his plain t-shirt and jeans, he felt severely underdressed, but she'd make trash bags look fancy. "You ready?" He let her pass him and wondered how he'd gotten so lucky to land such a pretty, caring girl.

"Yeah," she murmured demurely, casting a glance at him from under her eyelashes as he got the door for and waited until she was seated to close the door and head to the driver's side.

_Be a gentleman, _Simon had advised him when Derek reluctantly told his brother about things with Chloe. _Treat her like a princess. Hold doors for her, pay the check, if she's cold put your jacket over her, be polite which I know is hard for you but you must control your temper. _He'd even helped Derek pick out his outfit since he claimed Derek was "fashion blind like a seven-year-old Tori".

The silence in the car was painful to endure. _Is she mad at me? _he worried as she gazed out the window, her eyes half-lidded like a seductress's. She hadn't said a word since they'd started driving and he couldn't help but think he'd really screwed things up. _Of _course _she's mad. You ignored her for an eternity, _he told himself and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

The silence grew even louder, until he thought his head would explode and he knew he had to turn on the radio or say something because he didn't want this silence; his thoughts would slowly smother whatever good mood he was in. Making up his mind, he flicked on the radio just to fill the silence and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Chloe's head jerk up.

A Luke Bryan song was playing, the same one from when they met if he remembered correctly, and he thought about the warm summer sun and the way her tan legs had swung back and forth and the way she flushed and stammered when he came over.

"This song," Chloe said absently, drawing his attention away from the singer.

"What about it?" he asked as he turned off of I-30 and headed down the incline that lead to a highway, which would take them to the ice cream parlor.

"We listened to it in your car that first time."

For a moment, he was dumb-struck that she remembered. "Yeah," he muttered and flicked the volume up by seven notches.

A wide smile spread across her face, lighting up her eyes like a lake reflecting sun. "I love this song," she explained to him as she twisted around to face him.

"Chloe, I'm gonna tell you something." He passed two Walmarts, a Taylor's Do It Center, and four Subways. Four minutes until they got to Carvel. "I'm sorry. I've been an complete ass and nothing really excuses it. I really, really like you and I want this to work and don't be scared to tell me I'm being a dick. I don't bite."

"From what I've seen, that's a good thing," she laughed and the sound made all the unease melt away. "Next time, instead of being a complete prick and shutting me out, how about you lean on me. I won't let you down." Her clear, blue eyes met his and he was shaken by the amount of determination glinting in them. "I promise." There was no indecision or hesitance in her voice.

He felt his face warm. "Okay," he said demurely, feeling her fingers slide through his free hand to squeeze his fingers. Blood pounded in his ears as the Carvel ice cream store came into view.

"Okay," she murmured, smiling as he turned into the parking lot.

"I won't let you down this time. I promise," he told her, turning off the ignition to look at her and brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I promise."

"Okay, okay," she sighed and pulled away.

_I won't mess things up this time. _


End file.
